


the devil will want you back

by charizona



Series: ladies of poi - martine rousseau [3]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Bloodplay, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-19
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:45:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966643
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charizona/pseuds/charizona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blonde hair, brown eyes; Martine blends in despite being broken.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the devil will want you back

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: puncture.
> 
> @ Root and Shaw. I'm sorry.

Death scratches through her every minute of every day. Too quick, she develops a taste for murder. Kara calls her a killer; Martine sinks into the nickname the same way she sinks her teeth into beating hearts, tender necks. Sharp eyes catch the pulses bouncing under thin skin as the people mill around her in a hotel lobby, and she waits, imperceptibly still, with her legs crossed. She doesn’t blink.

Strangers stand unaware and Martine imagines killing every one of them.

 

*

 

Constancy, like the thrum of a human pulse. Like the absence of her own.

Her life exists in sets of threes, turning circles in the settings of centuries.

Hunger. Aches in her stomach when she goes months without a kill. The growl in her throat, stomach, they both tear up her insides in ways that are decidedly not human. She doesn’t get weak, but rather she hurts all over. In her bones, muscles, and teeth. Perhaps in her teeth, the most.  With hollow teeth and a hollow soul, she exists in a world filled with hidden predators. Blonde hair, brown eyes; Martine blends in despite being broken.

Running. She never settles in one place for more than five years, both because of the suspicion of the locals and because of the Hunters. Every few decades, she catches the trail of another one, and the one after her now follows with a bloodlust almost as strong as the pull in her chest, the one that urges her to kill. Bodies left in blood puddles, Martine is never safe, really, but she grows smarter with time. Black dress, bitten lips; Martine breaks through the system anyway.

Sex. There’s always been The One, but there are others, too. Martine doesn’t get to see Kara often. Her sire, her damned, her lover; Kara Stanton took Martine from the world in 1817 and brought her back to life, her kiss an elixir. Martine’s never tried ecstasy, but there’s something similar about sleeping with a vampire and sleeping with a human. Nothing compares when there’s not a care about breaking anything. Bruised skin, fangs deep; Martine loves only one person.

 

*

 

She’s gone weeks without food.

The Hunter’s name is Sameen Shaw. She doesn’t know what Martine looks like, and Martine would like to keep it that way. She can’t leave town, not one as small as this, without raising suspicion, without Shaw getting “tall, blonde, dangerous” as a descriptor and maybe a VIN.

She’s evaded suspicion for this long, although there’s no telling how the Hunter managed to track her here.

Kara told her once to just kill her, but Martine’s been weak for a couple of years now. Vampire blood makes her strong, a taste of crimson in her lips, but she hasn’t seen Kara since September 12, 2012. Over two years ago.

It isn’t safe, not when vampires are hunted for sport.

Martine glances around the bar she’s in, thumb running across the brim of the glass in front of her. Tequila’s a weak substitute for what she’s really craving, and she wishes she had something thicker, something she could pretend was blood as it slid almost painfully down her throat. Taking a sip, she grimaces.

“Hey, killer,” Kara says, from behind her, and it must be the alcohol that let the other vampire sneak up on her.

Martine’s at the corner of the bar, a bar that is mostly empty save for the bartender and a man sitting at the end of the counter, and she slides off the high stool and right into Kara’s space. Tall and lean, Kara looks down at her with a fanged grin. She’s just fed, and she smells like the blood Martine needs so much.

She kisses her, not really able to control herself, and is overwhelmed with the taste of rust still on Kara’s lips. The pull in her chest is strong, Kara’s scent assaults her entire being, and Martine can only just pull herself away.

Kara wipes her thumb on the corner of Martine’s lips, and says, “I missed you,” low and quiet and possessive, sparking a fire deep in Martine’s chest.

“Two years,” Martine says, finally. She’s surprised she can find her voice.

“Nothing when you’ve been alive for centuries,” Kara murmurs, still gazing at her like she’s the world.

Martine feels like they’re the only ones alive when Kara looks at her like that, holding her close, and it takes all she has to pull herself away and look around. They’re still practically alone, but it’s then that Martine remembers their circumstance, the small house she owns and the motel down the street, where a Hunter resides.

Kara’s fingers drift to her chin, pulling her face forward. Her eyes are clouded with concern, pupils bouncing back and forth. “My love, what is it? You’re worried.”

“When did you get in?” Martine asks, hands warming up and down Kara’s arms.

“Just tonight,” Kara answers immediately. She’s reverent, and the pull between them, Martine believes, has never been stronger.

Martine nods, takes Kara’s hands in hers, and leads her over to the counter. Even now, after centuries, Kara walks tall with her back too, unnaturally straight. Martine’s not even sure how long Kara’s been alive. “There’s a,” she says, pausing again to glance around them, “a Hunter in this town. I haven’t been able to leave, and she’s only just gotten here. She might want to talk to you.”

Kara’s still sometimes, too still, and she rivals stone as she takes in the information. “I’m only just visiting,” she says after a long, still moment, “and I’ve got a room at the motel.”

Martine nods, though she’s not reassured. She would’ve rather met with Kara in a busier city, where people blend in like blades of grass.

Kara leans on the bar, muscles fluid, and reaches for Martine’s drink. “It’s okay,” she says quietly, between drinks, “plenty of people checked in today. I used a false name, everything.”

Martine doesn’t quite know if she’s convinced yet, but soon Kara’s hand is on her wrist, a thumb rubbing on her pulse point.

“Tonight’s about you,” Kara whispers, breath hot and close to her ear. “I can smell how desperate you are, your ache. It’s been so long since we’ve killed together.”

Already the pull of Martine’s fangs tear at her gums, and her head turns sharply to her right, eyes finding the slumped shoulders of the intoxicated man. The bartender’s back is turned, and he’s putting up the remaining bottles to get ready and close for the night. Already, Martine is ready.

Kara leans even closer and nudges her shoulder. “Let’s go somewhere else. I want to watch you.”

Martine swallows, forces herself to ignore the steady beat of the man’s pulse, and lets Kara tug her out of the small bar.

The night is cool, one of the advantages of the North, and even colder is the body next to her, an arm threaded between her own as they walk down the abandoned street. Martine’s senses are on high alert and she feels everything: the soft pressure of Kara pressing into her side, the slight wind caressing through her hair, and the warmth of the blood in Kara’s fingertips from her earlier feeding.

It’s where the human blood settles, far in the extremities, tingling in fingertips, toes, in order for handshakes not to be like touching ice.

Martine, on the other hand, is cold to the touch, and she knows it. Kara rubs her hands anyway, like humans do in the wintertime, and it feels like they’re just two people in the nighttime, on their way back home. When they both catch the scent of a woman on the breeze, they become more than that, two predators hidden from the light of day.

She’s alone, and Martine and Kara laugh and clutch closer to each other. They’ve done this before, many times, and they’re both very good at it.

“Excuse me,” Kara says, through a laugh that shows her teeth. Her fangs are gone, her smile is inviting, charming, and drags the woman in just like it did with Martine, once. Kara sighs like whatever she’s about to say is inevitable. “We’re absolutely lost. Do you know the way to Corby Street, perchance?”

The woman smells like lemons. Martine’s not even sure she would be able to talk, if she tried, so she breathes through her nose and flicks her eyes between the woman’s face and her jugular. “Actually,” she says, grinning, “I do. It’s right near my house.”

“Perfect,” Kara says, and this couldn’t be going better.

As the three of them walk, Martine lets her fangs puncture the delicate skin just inside her lower lip, lets them draw blood, and when she catches Kara look at her, pupils wide, she knows the scent has drifted to the other vampire. The human remains unaware, and Kara keeps steady conversation that Martine isn’t listening to. She’s focused on not slaughtering the bag of flesh right in front of them.

She hopes this one is into girls.

The woman, Sam is her name, stops in front of a house and waves an arm. “This is me,” she says, chuckling. “Would the two of you like to come in?”

Martine’s small house is just down the street, oddly enough, but she finds herself nodding despite the soft pressure of nails in her arm.

Kara answers for her. “We’d love to.”

 

*

 

This one is definitely into girls and Martine couldn’t be more grateful.

Kara likes to watch, at first, and Sam’s lips taste too much like wine and not enough like blood. Still, it’s been too long since Martine’s fed and too long since she’s fucked; she’d rather have some release before she drinks. Fluid and languid as she drags the loose tee above Sam’s arms, Martine has never been more relaxed.

Smiling against her lips, Sam sends nervous glances toward Kara on occasion, in the midst of kisses, but Kara sips her red wine and stares at them like they’re a painting and she’s at a museum. She’s a failing art student and the museum’s closing; she hasn’t quite gotten to Classical Greece.

The sound of the wine glass hitting the table stops them both, Martine’s hand resting on Sam’s hip just above the jut of bone, and they watch as Kara rids herself of her own shirt and pants.

Sam blinks when Kara almost seems to materialize next to them, but Martine knows it wasn’t just a trick of the eye. Kara’s lips on Sam’s neck, Martine’s hand drifting between her legs, Martine loses herself in the solitary sound of Sam’s heartbeat.

Fingerpads scratching along skin, Martine sinks her teeth into Sam’s neck a moment before the front door is kicked in.

She can’t stop herself, but she feels Kara pull away, feels Sam claw at her bare arms and back, but the rush of blood pouring past her throat, through her fangs, it’s too much to pull away from. It’s only when the body in her arms goes limp, the shouts around her grow hostile, that she stands and wipes her mouth with the back of her arm. Blood smears on her skin, her fangs ache with the memory, but she feels invigorated, and staring at all five feet three inches of Sameen Shaw, she feels like she can take on the world.

The gun pointed at the two of them is held steady. Martine’s never been more angry for being interrupted.

She swears she sees Shaw’s eyes drift to the body on the couch. Sam’s not quite dead; Martine can still hear her heart beating.

“So it’s you,” Shaw says, zeroing in on Martine. “You’re the one I’ve been tracking all this time.”

“Bullets are child’s play,” Kara says, and she’s standing close enough for Martine to know that she’d step in front of any bullet that came out of that gun. Bullets wouldn’t be fatal, yes, but the gun that Shaw’s holding would incapacitate.

Shaw looks at Kara, then, emotionless. “There’s a bounty for you. Alive. Not for you,” she adds, looking back at Martine. “I’ve got a hunch that you’re going to step in front of any bullet I shoot.”

Kara shrugs, her thin shoulders as sharp as her teeth. “You’re the littlest Shaw, aren’t you? Your father was killed. I heard about that. Shame. He was a good Hunter.” If Martine had said it, the words would’ve been taunting, goading Shaw into shooting, but Kara’s tone was far from patronizing. She was sincere, talking Shaw down; she wants them all to leave alive.

Martine wants Shaw to leave her alone.

“Yeah,” Shaw says, “but he was stupid. Turned his back on a vampire and put his guard down.”

“You won’t be stupid,” Martine says, and she taunts Shaw with all she has.

“Back the fuck up,” Shaw says, “or I shoot you both.” She takes a step forward, the only thing between her and the vampires, the couch.

“What about your bounty, Hunter?” Despite herself, Kara takes two steps back, dragging a reluctant Martine with her.

“Bullets won’t kill you,” Shaw grumbles, reaching down and pressing two fingers to Sam’s pulse and keeping a calculated eye on the both of them. She scowls when her fingers run over the two puncture marks, side by side, and Martine grins.

“She’s yours?” Martine asks, and when Shaw’s eyes go impossibly harder, she knows she’s hit a sweet spot. “She liked it when I ran my tongue behind her ear. She ever tell you that?”

A shot fires off before Martine knows it, before Kara knows it, and the bullet buries itself in Martine’s chest with a crumpling force she’s never felt before. She gasps, sure that one of her lungs is punctured, and hears the sounds of struggling around her but can do nothing to help. She’s paralyzed on the ground, gasping for breath as another shot goes off.

Cold hands are on her face, then, and Kara’s eyes are meeting hers. Martine can’t hear what Kara’s saying, but her lips are moving. The ringing in her ears rolls and rolls and soon, everything fades away.

 

*

 

Martine was twenty-two when her husband was slaughtered and a vampire’s teeth grazed her neck, digging in for reasons of love and ownership.

To Kara, Martine was hers and would be hers forever.

When Martine woke up, covered in blood and without a heartbeat, she cursed the evil thing in her midst and vowed to never speak to Kara for fifty years. It was daytime, in a barn, so Martine banished herself to one end of the barn and Kara to the other, and at the time, the elder vampire thought the newborn was a sight. Martine fell asleep, Kara brought her dinner, and then next evening, Martine slipped away and wasn’t seen for a half-century.

The next time, they kissed with blood on their lips because Martine was starting to come around.

 

*

 

“Love,” Kara urges, a cold hand placed on Martine’s forehead.

Martine wakes, and the first thing she notices is the strong scent of blood. She turns her head, notices the bodies of Sam and Shaw, strewn carelessly to the side to make room for Martine on the couch, and she’s hungry. She starts to get up, but a firm, strong hand on her shoulder stops her.

Kara holds her wrist up to Martine’s mouth. “Take mine,” she says softly, and Martine doesn’t hesitate to taste the blood that brought her into this life in the first place.

The vampire blood makes her dizzy with euphoria, but she feels stronger by the second. She only needs about ten seconds of it and the ache in her chest is gone. She sinks into the cushions, runs her tongue across her teeth, and lets out a breath.

Kara tucks hair behind her ear. “I don’t think the Hunter you were worried about is going to be bothering you anymore,” she murmurs, and her lips are too close. Martine wants to kiss her, but she doesn’t trust herself to stay upright.

“I told you I needed your help,” she points out, grinning.

She doesn’t need to kiss Kara, it turns out, because Kara kisses her, and soon she’s hovering above Martine, slipping a knee over her hips and straddling her stomach. She feels almost weightless above Martine, a hand coming up and cupping Martine’s jaw. She angles her head and kisses her, tastes her own blood on Martine’s lips, and grins against them.

“I taste nice, don’t I?” she wonders, her voice low, guttural.

Martine nods, smearing the blood across Kara’s lips and chin. She says, “You’re my favorite,” and runs her tongue slowly along the lines of blood, lapping it up.

Kara’s jaw goes slack, and she gets a look that’s pure predator, levelling her gaze just for Martine. She slips her hand between Martine’s legs, applying a hard pressure against the fabric of Martine’s jeans, and Martine’s eyes roll back with the sting of pleasure.

“What do you want,” Kara mutters, her hand working on the outside of Martine’s jeans.

“You,” Martine answers, leaning up to press her lips to Kara’s neck. Kara maneuvers out of the way, not letting her.

“What do you want me to do, love,” Kara urges, deftly undoing the button to Martine’s jeans but not quite delving inside of them. Martine almost whines, but the scent of blood in the room is overwhelming; she’s not in the mood to play games.

“Kara,” she breathes, her breath coming in short gasps, “fuck me.”

It’s the answer Kara wanted, and her hand slides between the fabric of Martine’s panties and her skin, into slick heat. She pushes two fingers into her, wet and waiting, and Martine’s fangs bite into her bottom lip to hold back the gasp that threatens. Martine doesn’t know what to do with her hands, digging her fingers into the cushion of the couch.

Kara’s forehead falls against hers as she draws her fingers in and out slowly, building up her rhythm, releasing the tension on Martine’s muscles. Kara’s eyes are open, her lips barely skirting the skin of Martine’s and her hips are moving with her pace of her hand, slow and sensual.

Nails find purchase on Kara’s thigh, scraping stars, and Martine breathes against Kara’s lips, “faster,” and Kara obliges.

She pulls Martine apart from the inside out, pushing into her with three fingers, Martine feels the scrape of teeth on her neck, feels Kara holding back, and she finds herself shaking her head as her entire entire body quakes with pleasure.

“Bite me,” she says, and Kara does.

Kara sinks her teeth into Martine’s neck, puncturing the skin, and the sharp, echoing pain that pulses through her being is what drives her over the edge the moment Kara curls her fingers inside of her.

She feels the blood leave her, Kara gasping against her skin, and Kara’s fingers are still inside of her as she comes, pushing into her over and over again as her teeth dig deeper.

Kara pulls away from her, her teeth stained red, her chest heaving, and she slips her fingers from between Martine’s thighs agonizingly slow. Martine shudders beneath her touch when she places a hand on Martine’s bare stomach. She kisses Martine softly, too soft, but the taste of her own blood is enough to get her going again.

“We need to leave,” Kara says, and Martine knows she’s right.

They don’t bother cleaning up, but they feed off what’s left of the bodies. Martine takes the Hunter, Kara takes her mate.

 

*

 

Constancy. When Martine’s with Kara, everything stays mostly the same.

She’s never hungry.

She never runs.

She’s never unsatisfied.

 

*

 

She’s always in love.


End file.
